Noa Buchris- Sister of Hadar Buchris Hadar Buchris Z”L Murdered in a Stabbing Attack on November 22, 2015 5.8.1994 – 22.11.2015
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Noa Buchris- Sister of Hadar Buchris Hadar Buchris z”l murdered in a stabbing attack on November 22, 2015 5.8.1994 – 22.11.2015 Hello everyone. I am Noa Bucharis, About two and a half years ago I entered a new life. A life in which there was a great storm, full of turmoil. About two and a half years ago, my sister, Hadar, was murdered in a stabbing attack at the Gush Etzion junction. Memorial Day for me is a day of unexpected emotions. I just sit silently waiting for what will come. Waiting to see which emotions will flow, sometimes waiting with quiet patience and nothing comes, waiting in vain. About two and half years ago, I woke up on regular Sunday morning with a good feeling. I woke up appreciating this beautiful world. To a world where we were five siblings. That day though, I woke up to a day when my life simply changed shape into something new and much more complex. Sunday November 22, 2015 I heard an alert on my cell phone tell me there was a stabbing at the Gush Etzion junction. And I was angry. I said to myself, enough! I do not have the strength to hear about these attacks every day and I put the phone aside. The alert though, was not just a warning. It was about my sister. Hadar was murdered. So suddenly, I felt like my heart exploded. Without a hospital, without a final word. Without one last hug. No last hug. I felt something fall on top of me. All the strength from my throat to my stomach hit me like a heavy rock that made it difficult to walk. It grabs the whole place in my stomach and in a moment took over my whole self. And the next morning I got up, and we were only four siblings. I found myself standing by the ATM and the newsstand. And I stood there, watching people around me. I stood unable to move. Rooted to the ground. And I wanted to scream. Screaming so hard that the earth beneath everyone's feet will turn upside down, that everyone's stomach will contract in pain. The printed announcement of Hadar's death was piercing. That sentence stuck in me and I felt it stab me from deep inside, cutting my life in two and altering my perspective. A sharp sentence and a sharp knife, and so often, they seem parallel to me. Because like the knife, the sentence stabs and hurts. Like the knife, they both divide and cut us. And like the knife, they both kill something. He took your life and the sentence took my old life. Only memory remains. With that sentence a painful rock was thrown at me and all I wanted was to get it out of me. It came for short visits and left. Most of the time it must have been staying with others and I would sit and wait for that rock to hit me. I would sit and wait for the realization that my sister has gone. Hadar, I preferred to feel in every part of my body the pain that you are gone rather than to imagine that you will return. Rather than imagine you were away on a trip again to India and then you would come back for a short visit (Three breaths) This evening, on the Remembrance Day for fallen IDF soldiers and victims of terror. Here, at OneFamily, we remember. We remember who we were. What we were. And we give space to what we miss, and share our stories in our hearts, one by one, each of us. This evening, we want to be together. One family. Mazal Gidoni- Mother of Liel Gidoni, Killed in combat on August 1, 2014 Liel Gidoni z”l 5.11.1993 – 1.8.2014 One family, bereaved family Just a few minutes ago, throughout the country the siren was sounded that opened the ceremonies of the eve of Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s Memorial Day, and as every year, the sound caused millions of hearts in Israel to tremble. On this holy day, Memorial Day for Israel’s Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terror, everyone stops for one full day to remember and pay respects to our loved ones. To our sorrow, this year too, the struggle claimed from the life of our country a dear price, the list of the fallen became longer and the family of the bereaved became larger. And for us, the bereaved families, every new announcement opens the wounds – The wounds of pain and lack, of missed opportunities and of missing our loved ones – wounds that refuse to form a scab. Wounds that are opened again and again practically with every breath, with every thought, with every song that plays, with every visit to the grave of our loved one. For us, Memorial Day does not begin with the siren and does not end when the flag is raised to open the celebrations of Israel’s Independence Day. For us, every day is Memorial Day. Eli and I, born in Jerusalem, are parents to four boys; they all served as combat soldiers at the forefront of the IDF. From 1999, when our eldest son enlisted, we worried and experienced innumerable nights without sleep, during routine times and emergencies, when they were in their compulsory service and in reserves. On what was to be the last day of Operation Protective Edge, Friday, August 1, 2014, what was later called “Black Friday” – at noon, the terrible knock at the door was heard! Our youngest son – Liel – was killed in an encounter with terrorists in Rafah, after the ceasefire went into effect, and at a time when he and his comrades in arms were looking for an attack tunnel leading into Israeli territory. Liel was the operations officer of the reconnaissance company and served as the communications officer for the patrol commander, Major Benaya Sarel of blessed memory who fell together with him. And in the same event, Lieutenant Hadar Goldin of blessed memory was killed and captured. Liel was 21 years old when he fell. When I built my family, at their births, my children were drawn into my heart as if with a magic wand, each one received his own room. I devoted and invested my whole life to building this house. On the day Liel was taken from us, the walls of the rooms collapsed and the whole house collapsed. The house was full of sadness, pain and longing sharp and shattering, our lives stopped in one blow. I, who know so well the secret of the wet pillow, and who lick my wounds in secret, battle bereavement and loss and know that the routine of our lives will never be what it was. There is life before and life after. Liel, I live you and carry you with me to every place and at every moment, but the burden is heavy, dark and painful. I live and breathe but something inside me is dead. My dear son, I so miss your huge, beautiful smile, your jokes in every situation, the positive and happy atmosphere that imbued every place you were, The smile and happiness did not depart from you for a moment (Alon, your friend, wrote, “My brother it cannot be that you are dead, for when you are dead, the muscles slacken and the smile is erased, and nothing could ever erase your smile”) I miss the Friday night and holiday evening meals, the discussions, the jokes, the comedy sketches and films that you knew by heart, staying up until the Shabbat clock turned off the light, only then would we disperse, or continue in the dark. When I see Or playing and horsing around with Ori and Shai, I imagine you happy, smiling in your way, and joining in the game and the horseplay. How you would love them and they love you. In one of my conversations with Ori about you – Ori asked me, “Grandma, Liel was an uncle like Or?” I answered her, “yes” and her response was, “Then I lost a good uncle like Or. ”You loved speaking with us so much, sharing, telling us stories, asking questions, taking an interest and seeking advice on every topic. Only today do we learn that you gave advice to everyone you encountered. I would be so happy to listen to your advice today – how do we go on?? We need you – for you to smile on us and to rebalance us but you are not here to tell me as you would every time I worried – “Mom, enough with the nonsense.” A few days ago while I was looking for a document – I found the letter that we wrote you, Liel, on your journey to Poland. The letter opens this way: “Here at home everything is as usual, nothing special except that the house is empty (you are not here) and the refrigerator is full (yet again….you are not here)” – and this is how the house looks since you are not here. There are many mornings when I ask to not wake up, to close my eyes and to be drawn into a deep, infinite abyss. But despite this every morning I get up and start the daily war of survival. I am learning, truly like a baby, to put my feet on the floor, to get out of bed, to shower, to get dressed, to go to work, to see everyone going on with their lives – while for me time has stopped.